


Duty and Devotion

by free_the_muse



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cassandra is the (annoyed) mom friend, Cullen is tired and wholesome, F/F, Josephine is a precious cinnamon roll, Leliana has lyrium powers (kinda), Sera is a trolololol, Slow Burn (kinda), a creative take on Leliana post Sacred Ashes death, a dead asshole, the warden is an asshole, you'll see ;) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 07:36:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14995982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/free_the_muse/pseuds/free_the_muse
Summary: Leliana died in the Temple of Sacred Ashes at the hands of a selfish Warden.Only...she didn't.Now she feels songs in forgotten tongues humming beneath her skin, and has strange power manifesting itself in ways she doesn't understand. None of that matters to her though. She would let her heart fall to ash if it meant fulfilling her duty to the late Divine Justinia.Josephine has always been a gentle soul.But peace is scarce when the world is at war.Now Josephine has decided to do everything she can to ensure the world doesn't fall apart. If that means joining a heretical movement led by the Right and Left Hands of the late Divine, then so be it. (Maker help her.)





	1. A Beginning and an End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this pairing and wish we had more content for them. :(  
> Anywho, this is going to be an alternate version of DA:I, with Leliana being more the main protagonist than the Inquisitor (don't worry, they'll still be there!). The idea for this story was inspired by the epilogue for Leliana if the Warden killed her at the Temple of Sacred Ashes (killing her was unthinkable for me personally, but I was looking up the different epilogues and saw that). I took a few liberties, but I hope you'll like them.  
> The pairing is Leliana/Josephine , just in case you still weren't sure lol.

Chapter One: A Beginning and an End

* * *

 

Josephine remembers when she first met Leliana.

They had both been quite a bit younger then, although Marjolaine’s prodigy had all the grace and elegance of a refined woman. Josephine still cringes when she recalls how dull and awkward she had been by comparison.

             It had been at one of the Dowager’s spring balls, or perhaps it was the summer one? No, Josephine clearly remembers the light violets and bright greens of the drapery and table cloths, the silver lining the Serault glass wine flutes—it was definitely a spring ball.

            Josephine had just finished her second year at the university in Val Royeaux and was feeling quite accomplished with her newfound (but honestly still developing) aristocratic skills. Although she does remember talking to a young man from her class about Tevinter politics and almost mistaking champagne for sparkling wine. She still frowns over that to this day. Honestly, who in their right mind would ever make that mistake?

            But then she remembers hearing a quiet lute and pausing midsentence to listen.

“Do you hear that, ser?” she had asked, voice touched by fascination.

Her classmate had tilted his chin up to listen. “It is rather difficult to hear, isn’t it?” he’d commented with an offhanded chuckle, “I feel as if my ears are squinting to see the sounds.”

            Josephine was too busy listening to reply, and before she knew it her feet were moving toward the source of the melody. Looking back on it now, she realizes that she hadn’t even excused herself from the conversation with the poor gentleman. Yet another cause for grimacing.

            She remembers searching--ignoring the lights of the ballroom, the glimmering of the glasses and chandeliers and jewelry, the cacophony of nobles speaking, laughing, and posturing in their extravagant attire—all for that one subtle sound. Like tracing a golden thread through a spool of red silk.

            And she found it. Found her.

The garden had been fairly empty, with only a few people scattered here and there along the hedges sharing hushed conversations or discreet embraces.

            And in the center of it all was Leliana, strumming out melodic chords and softly humming. She was a vision.

Her long red hair had captured the light of the setting sun and glowed like a cascade of hot embers down her shoulders. She had worn a mask of silverite inlaid with swirls of fire opal. And her dress had been a luxuriously deep crimson, with elegant black lace along the bodice and hem.

Josephine couldn’t help but imagine her as a single beautiful rose among the muted greens of the garden. Bathed in the fiery shades of dusk she was like a vision of Andraste herself, her soft voice a quiet hymn to the golden heavens above.

Josephine grew nervous as she approached the intimidating beauty as if her feet had minds of their own. She remembers agonizing over what to say, her youth making her uncertain and insecure. She truly had made a terrible bard.

“That sounds lovely.” She’d finally blurted, so very young and clumsy with her words.

The playing had stopped as Leliana turned to look at her. “Thank you, my lady.” A careful smile had been offered. Blue eyes studied her cautiously, obviously trying to discern her intent. They burned a path and scorched her skin in their quest for answers, and by the time they finally met her own gaze Josephine’s cheeks were dusted in a girlish pink.

“I have not heard it before,” Josephine had bravely continued, awkwardly yet earnestly attempting to express her sincerity. “But it sounds lovely.” She had already said that. Oh, how terribly clumsy her words had been at the time!

Still, Leliana had smiled again, more genuinely than the first. She began to strum once more. “It is an elvhen folk song, not very popular among the nobility I’m afraid,” she told her, “I find it quite comforting. The way the notes rise and fall, the richness of tones…there is something other-worldly about it that I cannot seem to grasp with words. It touches the soul.”

“I had never thought of it in that fashion before.” Josephine had been utterly fascinated by this mysterious woman who was so talented and beautiful, with a profound insight and a voice like chantry bells. “I heard your playing while I was in the ballroom and I simply felt compelled to follow the music to its source.”

Leliana half smirked, blue eyes gleaming through the silverite mask. “Well, it would seem that you have found me.”

Josephine remembers how utterly charmed she had been and the heat in her cheeks as she stumbled over herself to form proper words. What a hopeless youth she was!

“I am Josephine Montilyet,” she’d introduced herself, before shyly mumbling, “And I am quite happy to have found you, ah, that is to say, I am happy to have met you.”

Leliana had giggled at her coy fumbling. “Oh, but you are adorable!” she’d exclaimed through her tinkling laughter, “What brings a lovely girl like yourself to a place such as this?”

Josephine remembers feeling affronted by being implicitly called a child, but in hindsight that is exactly what she had been. She now also realizes that Leliana had avoided introducing herself at the time. Young Josephine had been so completely out of her league, but Leliana has always had a merciful heart it would seem.

“I am seventeen, attending university in Val Royeaux.” Josephine had proclaimed with a slight pout, which honestly didn’t help her case at all, “I am about to start my final year of schooling. My main focus is political and economic relations, with minor studies in language, commerce, and calligraphy.” Josephine looks back on her years of schooling fondly. She has always loved learning and prided herself in being at the top of her class.

This new information had, at least, seemed to impress Leliana. She raised a curious brow. “So young?” she had stated with a slight tilt of her head, “You must be quite the gifted scholar, then.”

Josephine is proud to remember that her younger self had the sense to realize that the flow of information in the conversation so far had been one-sided.

“And what of you?” she attempted to turn the tides, “You cannot be much older than I am, and yet you are here, alone.”

Leliana had smirked beneath her mask. “This is the Grand Game,” she had stated with an airy chuckle, a true master of deflection, “No one is ever alone.”

Outmatched, Josephine hadn’t known what to say to that, so she merely listened in silence to the steady stream of notes Leliana coaxed from the lute.

Then the sun disappeared with the day and Lady Marjolaine arrived with the evening, fashionably late to the party (“Ah Leliana, there you are, my pet. Come with me, I have something to show you.”).

Then Leliana had risen from her perch and politely nodded her farewell. “Have a pleasant evening, Lady Montilyet.”

And then she was gone, vanishing into the crowd like the sun that had fled from the night.

 

* * *

Leliana remembers the day she died in the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

They had found the long lost ashes of Blessed Andraste herself! Leliana remembers the awe she felt, the sheer supplication that pierced her heart as they approached the main chamber.

            The light had fallen just so, the air seemed to sing hymns in tongues beyond mortal understanding, and the floor had gleamed despite centuries without visitors. The Maker himself had touched that place, and Leliana had wanted to drop to her knees and cry in the face of it all. She had felt so complete, so utterly whole and filled with light.

            And then the so called “Hero of Fereldan” had approached the altar with a vial of that wretched dragon’s blood, and Leliana could not stand idle.

            She remembers leaping between the Warden and the urn, staring that man down with a fierceness firmly rooted in the depths of her being. This was _Andraste_ , the Bride of the Maker, the women who been a symbol of all that is good and pure in this world. Leliana would protect her resting place with all that she was, even if it meant sacrificing her life.

            “Move, Leliana!” the Warden had barked, growing angry.

Leliana did not move. “You will not defile the Ashes!”

            The Warden sneered and drew his sword, ignoring the urgings of Morrigan to “not waste the effort”. Shale said nothing and moved into position at the Warden’s side.

            “This is your last warning.” The Warden growled, “Get of out the way. Now.”

Leliana stood her ground, drawing her own daggers. She had never felt so calm, so sure of anything in her life. This was her sacred duty and she would not hesitate. “You are a monster!”

            And then everything exploded. Blades clashed in whirls of light and sound. Leliana was weightless, free, strong. She leapt, she parried, she dodged, she struck. It was a dance. One that she knew well, and in that moment Leliana had danced with every fiber of her being. But she was only one against a golem of stone and a man touched by darkspawn. She knew it would be her last dance, her Swan Song.

_Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._

            She did not falter.

Her body was battered, but it only spurred her on to fight harder.

_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the Champions of the Just._

She took a hard blow that knocked her to the floor. She quickly rose again and hit back twice as hard. Her insides burned hot, as if she were shrouded in flame like an agent of Andraste herself.

_Blessed are the Righteous, the Lights in the Shadow._

Though she was wounded, tired, and outmatched, she burned hotter than a collapsing star. She did not falter, did not hesitate, even as the Warden’s sword pierced her chest.

            She barely felt the pain as her tunic was bathed in dark crimson. Her body quickly grew heavy and weak. She desperately willed her legs to move, to protect the Urn, but she crumpled at the alter. Her vision swam and things were blurring around her as a chill seeped into her bones. The injured Warden sheathed his sword and made to approach the urn again.

She reached out with the last of her strength and grasped pathetically at the Warden’s ankle. “Do…not defile…Andras…te.” Her lungs felt like they were full of liquid and she coughed up red.

_In their blood, the Maker’s will is written._

The Warden growled and kicked her hand away. Blackness crept at the edges of her vision, but she fought against it will all she had. Everything blurred, everything hurt.

A flash of yellow, a faint touch of warmth.

“Leave her, Morrigan.” Even the voices sounded distorted, “She is useless to us.”

            Cold, so very cold.

            And then darkness. Cold, cold darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the formatting is weird, I'm still learning Ao3 and stuff. (Also, my work is unbeta'd so any mistakes are on me lol)


	2. Moving Forward and Looking Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to anyone who leaves comments! I always enjoy reading them.

Chapter Two: Moving Forward and Looking Back

* * *

 Leliana remembers waking later, sprawled out on the temple floor in a pool of her own blood. She stood easily and felt no pain. She felt strangely warm, actually. Her insides seemed to sing the same hymns as the temple, in a language that danced just beyond the edges of her understanding. What had happened to her that she still lived?

            At the time she had believed that she had been saved by the Maker himself.

Later however, she would notice the faintly glowing scar on her chest, would recognize the nature of the singing in her veins, and question everything.

            The Urn was gone. Of course it was.

Leliana decided to return to Orlais after that. She couldn’t quite say what her reasons were at the time, other than she felt compelled to do so. Maybe she could be of greater use to the Chantry there, to serve the Maker and atone for her failure to protect the ashes.

            She arrived to much fanfare and was lauded as a veteran of the Blight. Apparently the so-called “Hero of Ferelden” had died killing the Archdemon in a battle for Denerim. She internally scoffed at that because _of course_ he would martyr himself. He had been a man consumed by a quest for glory. Well, at least he was gone.

            The singing beneath her skin had not stopped. She wished it would.

It was with this thought in mind that she accepted the invitation to the Antivan Ambassador’s Diplomatic Ball. Perhaps a distraction was in order.

            It was funny, looking back on it now, she did not even bother to learn who the ambassador was before deciding to attend. As someone who now arms herself with information, Leliana can’t help but scoff at her own audacity at the time.

            The ball was…alright. Too many politicians for her taste, but the decorations and refreshments were extremely tasteful. It was obvious that the host had a keen eye for detail.

            Leliana had enjoyed leaning on the balcony, listening to the music and watching the dancing. She had been filled with memories from a time when she too would have danced. Memories she hadn’t even thought of since the death of Marjolaine.

Leliana marvels at how long ago her horrid debacle with her former master had felt. _It feels as if that had been another lifetime entirely._ Perhaps in a way it was. She sighed. It was pointless to look back on every betrayal she’d experienced in her life. There were too many, she thinks bitterly.

            “I do hope that your sigh is not one of boredom, my lady.” A warmly accented voice spoke from her side.

            She turned.

            For the first time since her awakening, the singing in her veins grew quiet.

Familiar hazel colored eyes watched her from beneath dark lashes. Rosy lips turned upwards in a gentle smile. A kind face; warm toned skin framed by soft dark locks tied up in an elaborate braided bun. Beautiful, pure, _familiar_.

            Leliana is quite embarrassed when she remembers that it had taken her several moments of staring to realize that the woman was not wearing a mask.

            “Ah, you must be the Antivan Ambassador.” Leliana had taken her gloved hand as if by instinct, pressing a kiss to the back of it. The woman’s cheeks grew pink as her smile morphed into something more fond.

            _I have met you before,_ Leliana remembers thinking, staring into those soft eyes, _who are you?_

The ambassador had pulled away a fraction and straightened. “Yes, I am. We have met once before, I believe,” she replied with an air of polite nonchalance, “Though I was a bit younger then, and a student.”

            It had hit Leliana like a slap to the face. _Josephine Montilyet._

The pretty young girl who had listened to her songs and spoke honestly and earnestly, who had opened up to her with an adorable uncertainty. So naïve and untainted. Leliana had hoped that Orlais had not corrupted her gentle heart, as it had to so many others.

            “I could never forget someone so lovely, Lady Montilyet.” Leliana replied with a careful, yet genuine smile.

            Josephine’s cheeks flushed again. “Yes, well,” she quickly recovered, “You are certainly more complimentary than I recall.”

            Leliana remembers her times as a bard. Playing the Game, holding her thoughts and feelings tightly to her chest like cards in a game of Wicked Grace. Always redirecting, deflecting, hiding her intent, always hiding.

            “Perhaps I grow weary of secrets and subterfuge,” Leliana replied with a light sigh.

            Josephine nodded, her soft gaze studying her like a riddle to unravel. “You have been through much, from what I hear,” she noted quietly, yet there was no pity in her voice, for which Leliana was immensely grateful. She had been through much, indeed.

            “I am sorry about Marjolaine, about what she did to you,” Josephine clarified solemnly.

Leliana knew that the condolences were genuine and that fact alone made her throat constrict. She was touched that someone she hardly knew had cared for her so honestly. Just like Mother Dorothea had all those years ago. It had taken her a few moments to find the ability to speak.

            “I see Orlais has not changed you, ambassador,” she finally commented with a small smile. “You have managed to retain your kind heart in spite of the cruelties of the Grand Game.”

            Josephine laughed and the sound struck Leliana through like a silverite arrow.

“Yes, well, I find that kindness is its own reward.” She replied with a hint of mirth, “It is most certainly unexpected here in the Crown Jewel of Orlais.”

            Leliana smirked. “Real civility is a rarity, I would have to agree.”

They both shared a conspiratorial smile and the conversation became much more easy. They gossiped about all the latest scandals befalling the court. Lord Merriweather had apparently declared a blood feud with Lord Devereaux over a bottle of Antivan Brandy, which was terribly inconvenient for their children who were supposed to be married in a week. There would be many duels at the wedding, no doubt.

            Leliana was surprised to be enjoying every minute of it. She had laughed for the first time in a long while, and she was finding that Josephine had a playful streak to match her diplomacy. By the time the midnight hour struck, and the party was winding down, Leliana found herself reluctant to part company.

            Feeling a little emboldened by the sweet wine, and the glimmer in Josephine’s eyes, she allowed herself to draw closer to the ambassador. Their cheeks brushed and Leliana reveled in the softness of it.

“What would you say to a party that’s a little less…proper?” she murmured against the shell of her ear, close enough to feel Josephine shiver.

Leliana caught the scent of parchment and chai spice as she pulled away.

            Josephine, red cheeked, had a girlish smile as she told her of a young noble’s party a few streets away. Leliana knew of him and grinned at the suggestion. This particular noble was notorious for throwing the loudest, most rambunctious affairs in the entire upper district. It sounded perfect.

            They stole away from the ball in search of the nobleman’s chateau. They didn’t not have to look far, as the music and laughter could be heard from the street.

            People of all stations and vestments had gathered there to let loose and party without abandon, and the ambassador and the ex-bard had blended in seamlessly. The music was intense, a fast paced style not typically seen at formal events. The drinks were even more intense.

            And so the night devolved into a joyous flurry of lights and sounds and laughter and Josephine. Maker, she loved spending time with Josephine.

            It was effortless and light, they moved through the space together with the grace of wind and water. They laughed and sang and talked about anything and everything. Leliana could not recall a time where she felt so free and full of joy. The otherworldly energies beneath her skin had remained silent and temporarily forgotten.

            The night grew more and more silly as it went on, as most parties with strong drink often do. Games of Wicked Grace and parlor tricks quickly grew out of hand as people all drunkenly tried to impress one another. Though, Leliana had managed to surprise Josephine by piercing the stem of a single violet with some noble’s throwing knife while blindfolded. She had picked it up triumphantly and, to much fanfare by other rowdy party goers, offered the flower to Josephine with a flourish and a bended knee. The ambassador had blushed and stammered out an “Oh, but I couldn’t possibly—“

            “Oh come now, Josie.” Leliana had cut her off while moving to tuck the stem into the ambassador’s slightly messy bun. They had both broken into a fit of giggles and the party continued.

            Leliana still has to hold back a chuckle when she recalls the frivolities of that evening. Particularly how they had ended up pinning a drunken templar’s smallclothes to a Chantry board. Oh yes, that was a night to remember.

            It was the night she and Josie became friends.

* * *

 Josephine remembers the day that Revered Mother Dorothea ascended to the Sunburst Throne and became Divine Justinia V. It was also the day that Leliana became the Left Hand of the Divine.

            Josephine remembers how her friend had looked, clothed all in ceremonial white and gold. Her red locks had shone in the light of the Grand Cathedral like glowing embers as she knelt before the throne to receive the gleaming silverite pin representing her station. She was a vision, knelt in solemn supplication amidst the radiant light. It was like watching the visage of Andraste herself paying homage to the Maker.

            Josephine will never forget how utterly beautiful Leliana had looked that day.

Things moved very quickly after that, however, as rumors of unrest in the Free Marches were whispered throughout the many circles of Orlesian society.

Time passed as Josephine worked tirelessly to calm the fears of all she could, donating countless hours and resources in an effort to prevent the spread of whatever conflict was brewing. After all, if she couldn’t use the powers of her station to bring a small amount of diplomacy to Thedas, then she should have chosen a different career. Peace was not an easy goal but a most worthwhile one.

And so she worked late into the night, often at home and with a cup of tea. Writing, always writing. Letters to local officials, letters to trade organizations, letters to nobles. Letters, letters, letters. Josephine’s hands were always stained with ink.

It was on one such night, where the wick in her writing desk candle had burned low and rain pattered against her windowsill, that Leliana first came to her.

Josephine had been surprised when she first answered the door. She had not been expecting any visitors at such a late hour, and certainly not her very dear friend whom she had not seen in months.

“Leliana?”

The Left Hand of the Divine stood at her doorstep, hair dripping and looking paler than she had ever seen her.

“I am sorry to disturb you,” Leliana had spoken haltingly then, not meeting her eyes, “I should not have come here. Forgive me, I shall go now.”

She abruptly turned to leave, causing Josephine to panic and reach out for her because really, what civilized person would ever let their friend venture out in the rain while clearly suffering from such awful vexation?

            “Nonsense,” she chided, guiding her friend into her home, “Please, come and sit for a moment while I make tea.”

            She quickly retrieved a fluffy towel and pressed it into a wide-eyed Leliana’s arms, moving her to sit on the settee in front of the fire. Josephine offered a smile that was weakly returned before she set about fixing the tea.

            “Do you still take your tea with two sugars?” She asked, though she knew the answer was yes. As an ambassador, she prides herself on her attention to detail and her impeccable memory for people’s preferences. She knew Leliana was partial to a common Ferelden black tea, taken with two sugars and no milk.

            Leliana nodded, looking conflicted and vulnerable. “Josie, I—“

            “No apologies now, Leliana,” Josephine hushed her with a soft look.

Leliana said nothing and stared into the fire. Josephine couldn’t help but admire how the light danced along her skin and shone in her eyes like lightning in a storm. The more she observed her friend, however, the more she noticed the changes. She looked tired as if she had not slept in days, her bright eyes held shadows within them.

            “Here,” Josephine handed her a cup and saucer before preparing her own.

She sat next to her and they sipped tea in silence for several long moments before Leliana finally spoke.

            “I am a murderer, Josephine.” The words were quiet, wavering.

Josephine had recalled the boy she pushed, the one that had broken his neck as he fell down the stairs. Her classmate. The boy she had killed because she could not find the courage to speak.

            “There are many who kill in Orlais,” Josephine said evenly, though with a touch of sadness because she wishes it were not so. “I dare to say that you are a better person than all of them.”

            Leliana shook her head and set her tea aside. “I don’t want to be like them, Josie, I—“

Her head fell to rest in her hands. Josephine had never seen her like this. So vulnerable, so...lost.

            “I am…different now. Changed. I-I feel like I’m…slipping,” Leliana said thickly, “As if this is all that I can be, a ruthless weapon to be wielded against enemies and sometimes I wonder…”

            She looked up at her, and Josephine glimpsed the beginnings of tears glistening in her eyes.

            “Am I doing the right thing, Josie?”

Josephine had moved then, setting her tea aside, spurred by the impulse she felt in her chest to comfort and heal. She pulled Leliana into her arms and held her closely, protectively. Leliana folded into her and shivered to hold back her sobs. Josephine calmly rubbed her shoulder blades and murmured soft words of comfort in Antivan.

            “We can only try to live in a way that is honest to ourselves.” Josephine said gently, still rubbing little circles on the redhead’s back. “You are doing everything you can to protect the Divine and the greater good, yes?”

            She had felt Leliana nod against her shoulder and smiled.

“You suffer greatly to perform your duty as her Left Hand,” Josephine told her quietly, “But only someone with a kind heart would suffer as you do over such acts.” She deftly ran her fingers through crimson locks, “You are not ruthless, Leliana, you are _good_.”

            They sat together in warm silence after that. The kindling crackled as the rain faded with the storm’s passing.

            “Thank you, Josie,” Leliana murmured against her shoulder. “My heart was wavering because I was afraid to face what is coming, what I must do. What I must be.” She paused, taking Josephine’s hand in hers and giving it a little squeeze, “But you reminded me why I must face it, why I mustn’t hesitate.”

            Josephine looked down at their joined hands and felt her heart lurch. Her friend gave so much of herself, suffered so greatly to protect those she cherished. But who protected her? Josephine had wondered. Where could the Left Hand of the Divine find solace and safety when the weight of her burdens became too much?

            “I am always here for you, Leliana,” Josephine found herself promising, “Should you ever need me.”

            Josephine would be that person, she decided. If Leliana allowed her, she would offer a warm cup of tea and a friendly embrace; she would be a safe harbor when the storm became too much to bear.

            Leliana had pulled away to look at her then, her eyes holding something infinitely soft and tender that shook Josephine to the core and stole her words away. (There was one word to describe what she felt, but it remained unvoiced.)

            “You’re too good to me, Josie.” Leliana had noted with a breathy chuckle, before settling back down against her shoulder, “I might grow spoiled at this rate.”

            Josephine had found herself giggling from the ridiculousness of the notion. “Well then!” she announced with a smirk, “Next time we have tea I expect you to bring me some of those delightful pastries…you remember the ones?”

            “The tarts made with lemon curd?” Leliana replied with an indulgent giggle, “Now who is being spoiled?”

            Josephine huffed in indignation. “You like those tarts just as much as I do!”

Then Leliana had laughed, rich and lilting and clear, and Josephine was captivated.

 

It had been just three weeks later when she had heard from Leliana again. This time it had come in the form of a courier delivering a small basket of lemon tarts. There had been no note attached, which had immediately told Josephine exactly who the sender was. Plus, lemon tarts hadn’t been in fashion at the time so it had to be…

            “Oh, I was also told to give you this,” the courier produced a small bundle of pretty white flowers tied together with a light blue ribbon. Josephine took it and brought it to her nose. Andraste’s Grace.

            They smelled like Leliana.

Josephine allowed herself to breathe in the scent a second time before tipping the courier and closing the door. She smiled as she retrieved a pretty vase of serault glass and arranged the flowers on her writing desk. Her smile had persisted all the way through reading her daily stack of letters. Even a particularly disappointing missive from Duke de Poisson had not hampered her good mood. She hummed as she worked, pausing every now and then to breathe in the scent of the flowers and nibble at a lemon tart.

            Josephine had finished responding to the last letter several candle marks later, after the sky had grown dark and stars had dusted themselves across the heavens. The ambassador put her things away and rose, taking a moment to stretch. She mentally catalogued everything that would need to be done tomorrow. She would need to ensure Lady Montblanc would _not_ be serving halibut at her soiree next week lest Lord Byron throw a fit. Maybe she would pay Empress Celene a visit to discuss the horrible events that recently occurred in the Free Marches and what her planned course of action was. After all, it isn’t every day that a chantry is blown up and the mages are freed.

            Josephine had set about making tea for the evening. She was unsure if Leliana would be paying her a visit to share in what was left of the lemon tarts, so she settled for a milder tea that would pair nicely with the confections. Still, she couldn’t help the excitement that bubbled up in her chest at the thought of seeing her friend again. She had missed her terribly and often found herself wondering about her wellbeing.

            She had just finished rekindling the fireplace when a knock sounded at her door. Her heart raced with giddy anticipation as she approached the door.

            Leliana stood there, looking exhausted but otherwise unharmed and Josephine found herself infinitely grateful. “Josie,” she breathed, a soft smile touching her lips, “I have missed you.”

            It was said with such honesty and feeling that Josephine was left momentarily off balance; as if the world had momentarily tilted ever so slightly off its axis. She gestured for her friend to come in while she tried to reclaim her ability of speech.

            “You look tired,” she finally said, and then immediately regretted the words. Really, what sort of diplomat was she that she could not even manage basic pleasantries?

            Leliana had simply laughed in response, her eyes brightening. “I’m sure I must look quite the dreadful sight!” she replied good naturedly, placing her cloak on the coat hanger.

            “Not at all! You are beautiful, I--” Josephine had stumbled over herself to reassure her, just like she had at the ball years ago, “I only worry about your health, Leliana. The things they have been saying about the mages and templars lately, I had feared that…”

            She trailed off as her eyes met Leliana’s. The Left Hand’s gaze was filled with something infinitely tender and once again words abandoned Josephine.

            Leliana stepped forward and took Josephine’s hand in both of her own. Neither of them were wearing gloves, and Josephine noticed how Leliana’s hands were cool and bore little callouses on the pads of her fingers. Her heartbeat stuttered into clumsy irregularity.

            “I have missed you, Josie.” Leliana repeated, softer this time, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before she released it and moved away. “Come now, let me serve the tea before it grows cold.”

            Josephine retrieved what was left of the lemon tarts while Leliana poured the tea. They sat on the settee in comfort, trading gossip while sipping tea and eating sweets. The fireplace crackled quietly in the background. They had each seldom had time to let down their guard and just relax like this. It was wonderful.

            “And then Celene decreed that they both duel with feathers! Ser Michel was not amused, of course, but it was quite interesting to watch.” Josephine finished recounting a story, smiling at Leliana before taking another bite of tart.

            “Celene is certainly skilled at avoiding conflict when it suits her,” Leliana comments off-handedly, taking another sip of tea.

            “Yes,” Josephine had agreed with a slight frown, “Though sometimes I do wish that she would be a bit less ambiguous on where she stands…”

            Leliana hummed thoughtfully before placing her cup and saucer back on the tray table.

“Are you happy Josie?” she asks abruptly, her expression suddenly unreadable, “Being the Antivan Ambassador?”

            Josephine was curious as to why she was being asked such a thing. Leliana had always been relatively open with her intentions, as far as Josephine knew. This must have been something of grave importance for her friend to be so cautious.

            “There are times,” Josephine admitted, “When I wonder if I am actually making an impact on the grand scheme of things, or if I am simply going along with the routine of it all.” Josephine had spoken honestly of her doubts. She could not lie to Leliana, nor would she ever want to.

            Her friend is silent for a beat before speaking again, quieter this time. “You have surely heard of the events in Kirkwall? Of the mages breaking free of the Circles of Thedas?”

            Josephine quickly nodded. “Of course. I was planning on speaking to Empress Celene about a possible course of action to quell the fighting.”

            Leliana shook her head, a rueful smile in place. “I would not bother. I have already spoken to the Empress and her attention appears to be elsewhere.”

            Josephine had been vaguely aware of the Empress’ supposedly scandalous affair with her elven spymaster turned enemy. (Honestly such things had not bothered Josephine, who carried no prejudices against the elves.) Celene had been caught up between trying to improve the social status of the elves and trying to pretend that she did not care about them. Such was the way of Orlesian politics. Unfortunately, such methods were slower to bring about actual change in the way of things. Josephine knew that the speed of reform simply was not efficient enough given current world affairs.

            “I must admit that progress has been slow,” she conceded, placing her cup and saucer next to Leliana’s. “I often feel as if I am chipping away at a stone wall with a tea spoon.”

            Her friend turned to face her fully, blue eyes intense. Josephine had never seen Leliana look so urgent as she did at that moment. Her next words were spoken quickly and quietly.

“In exactly 3 weeks, Divine Justinia will be holding peace talks at the Conclave. The mages and the templars will not be able to reach an accord, not with the way things stand.” She shook her head, frustration and resignation dancing across her features. “When the peace talks fail, Justinia is going to resurrect the Inquisition. You know what this means, yes?”

            Josephine struggled to process what she was hearing. So much was happening so fast. “Is the Divine planning an Exhalted March?” she had asked, trying to hide the worry in her voice. Her fingers were starting to tremble so she quickly folded them together in her lap. Just thinking about war could make her feel ill at ease.

            “Nothing so frightening, Josie,” Leliana was quick to reassure, “The Inquisition will be a force for positive change, for restoring order to chaos. Divine Justinia only wants to bring peace to Thedas, to end this war before it escalates and takes more innocent lives.”

            Leliana placed a hand over both of Josephine’s, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I’ve come to ask if you would be Ambassador of the Inquisition.” Blue eyes implored, beckoned to her very soul, “Let me give you a hammer in place of a tea spoon, Josie.”

            Josephine’s head was swimming. “I…I don’t know what to say,” she shook her head in disbelief, “Surely there must be someone more qualified?”

            Leliana’s expression grew more severe. “No. There is no one I trust more than you,” she stated firmly, “You are extremely intelligent, fiercely determined, and have the most relentlessly kind heart I have ever seen, Josie.” She dropped her gaze and her voice softened, “It must be you. I can think of no other I would trust enough for this.”

            Josephine’s breath had caught in her lungs and her heartbeat fell out of rhythm once more. To hear Leliana say such things to her with that intensity…Josephine couldn’t possibly say no, even if she had wanted to.

            In all honesty, being an ambassador of something this groundbreaking seemed like a marvelous opportunity to actually bring peace to the people of Thedas. If the Inquisition was to truly be a visionary force for good, then Josephine felt compelled to carry its banner.

            “Well,” she breathed, offering a shaky smile, “Surely it sounds more exciting than my current occupation...”

            Leliana brightened immediately, a beaming grin lighting up her face. “Oh, I promise you it will be endlessly interesting, at the very least.”

            “Then I humbly accept.” Josephine replied, unable to keep a giggle out of her words.

Looking back on it now, they both agree that this had been the moment everything started moving forward. But in what direction, well, only the Maker would know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. University is picking back up again, but I should be able to work more consistently on this because of that (I'll be stuck at the campus library for 9 million years). As stated previously, I do not have a beta for this work, so any mistakes you find are my fault. Also I still suck at formatting on Ao3, so there's that.


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